


For the Good of the Scheme

by sahiya



Category: Vorkosigan Saga
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, stuck in a closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregor was in a closet. It smelled like Ivan's socks. And it was all Miles's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Good of the Scheme

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://everysecondtues.livejournal.com/profile)[**everysecondtues**](http://everysecondtues.livejournal.com/), who bought me at the [Sweet Charity](http://www.sweet-charity.net) auction. Thank you for being so generous! And thank you also to [](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/profile)[**fuzzyboo03**](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/), who beta read this.

"Miles."

"Shh. What?"

"I'm in a closet."

"Well, technically speaking, Sire, it's a wardrobe."

"Don't _Sire_ me, Miles. I'm in a wardrobe! _Ivan's_ wardrobe! It's small and dark and smells like socks, and your elbow is digging into my ribcage. _Ow_."

"Sometimes one must suffer for the good of the scheme."

"This is all your fault."

"Not entirely."

"No?"

"No."

"Miles, I'm in a _closet_. With _you_. If it's not your fault, then whose is it?"

"Well, technically, I guess you could say it's my mother's."

*~*~*

"Oh, Miles!"

Miles froze, turned, and plastered on his most innocent smile. He'd been home on leave for less than a day, he hadn't caused a major planetary incident thus far, and before that he'd been out with the Dendarii for over eight months and managed to piss off only the people Illyan had told him to. For once he had nothing to worry about. And yet something in his mother's eyes made him want to find the nearest foxhole to hide in. "What?"

"No need to look so suspicious." Her hand landed on his shoulder and began steering him down the hallway. Miles's worries were in no way alleviated. "I was just wondering if you might like to join me for some tea. To catch up."

"Um, I was actually going to -"

"Join me for some tea, Miles."

After twenty-two years, Miles knew when he was cooked. "Yes, Mother. Happy to."

"Excellent."

He followed her into the green parlor on the third floor and noted the spread of tea things on the table. Obviously this was no spur of the moment plan. He'd been ambushed by his mother. Former Betan Survey captain or no, that wouldn't look particularly good on a covert ops agent's résumé.

He plunked down across from her and waited while she calmly poured him some tea and offered him a sandwich. "All right," he said at last, after having (predictably) scalded his tongue on the first impatient sip. "What's going on?"

"I wanted to have tea with my son," she said, raising her eyebrows at him, "whom I don't see with much frequency these days."

"Right." He leaned back in his chair, nibbled a sandwich and waited.

She lasted three sips of tea. "Have you seen Gregor since you've been home?"

Miles blinked. "No. But then I've only been home for," he checked his chrono, "about twenty-five hours. There's a ball at the Residence in four days. I thought I'd see him then." Not that he hadn't thought about going over there, but all things considered . . . no. They'd decided that they were going to go on as though nothing had happened. Miles didn't have a reason to go see Gregor, so he wouldn't.

_You didn't use to_ need _a reason_, the voice in the back of his head pointed out. Miles shrugged it off irritably.

His mother was watching him closely. That was never a good sign. Miles squirmed and she let him. "I think you might want to see him sooner," she said at last.

Miles frowned, then sat up straight in alarm. "Why? Is he -"

"He's fine," she assured him, and sipped her tea. "Or at least, he's better."

Miles relaxed fractionally. "Oh. Good. He told you then?"

"Mmm."

Miles tensed again. Something about this was not quite what it seemed, and after a moment he realized what it was. His mother was enjoying herself. She was almost, one might say, smirking, in a way that could only be described as _Betan_. She wouldn't be doing that if they were only talking about Gregor's mental health, which was, after all, no laughing matter. "Oh for - he _told_ you, didn't he?"

To her credit, his mother's charade lasted about five more seconds. Then she put the teacup down and said, "Yes, he told me. Of course he told me. Though I would have preferred it if you had told me."

Miles scowled. "It was just a kiss. One kiss. What was I supposed to say? 'Hello, Mother, lovely weather we're having, I kissed the Emperor'?"

His mother shrugged. "Sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

"Of course it does," Miles muttered.

His mother arched an eyebrow at him. "You should go see Gregor. He's missed you, I think."

Now it was Miles's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Missed me?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well." Miles paused, considering. Yes and no, really. He and Gregor weren't particularly close, the way that some - his mind shied away from the word _siblings_ as far too disturbing to contemplate. Childhood friends, he supposed - yes, the way some childhood friends weren't that close as adults. Or they hadn't been, and then that whole thing with Cavilo and the Dendarii had happened, not to mention the necking (which had been, if Miles were entirely honest with himself, a bit more than "just one kiss"), and now . . . "I dunno. I mean, this kiss - it really wasn't anything. He was upset and I was there. That's all."

His mother raised her eyebrows again. "Well, I certainly don't believe that, but if that's what you're telling yourself, far be it from me to try to change your mind."

Miles snorted. "Right. I think you're mistaking me for someone who hasn't been your son his entire life."

His mother gave him a wry look. "He's missed you," she repeated, with a gentle firmness that made Miles squirm again. "Also," she added, "he's very bored."

"That I can believe," Miles said, wondering with a certain baffling resentment how many slim, blonde, simpering Vor virgins had been paraded past him since they'd last seen each other.

His mother's lips, not quite hidden behind her teacup, quirked up. "My prescription is an adventure. Think you could provide one?"

Miles considered this. "An adventure? Under the noses of his guards?"

"Well, a minor adventure. Not quite as adventurous as last time, thank you very much."

"Huh."

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Yes," Miles said slowly. _Oh yes. Heh._ "You know, Ivan's birthday has fallen very conveniently during my home leave."

His mother hit him with a bright, Betan smile. Miles wondered abruptly what Faustian deal he'd just signed. "Perfect. Now, tell me what you've been up to. Simon's reports are a bit sparse on the details."

*~*~*

"Wait, you're telling me your mother put you up to this?"

"Not exactly. She gave me the idea, belike. And hey, you have no right to sound indignant. You, Gregor, are the one who told her about - you know."

"Ah. That."

"Yes. That. Do you have any idea what it's like having a Betan mother who thinks you're sexually confused?"

"Some. Actually."

"Oh."

"Quite."

"Well . . . at least this is an adventure."

"An ad - Miles, this isn't an adventure! This is a closet!"

"Wardrobe."

"_Miles_."

"Hey, you agreed to be my accomplice. You gave your fully informed consent."

"Fully informed, my Imperial Ass. I believe your exact words were, 'Hey, Gregor, how would you like to seriously mess with Ivan's head?'"

*~*~*

"Hey, Gregor, how would you like to seriously mess with Ivan's head?"

Gregor looked up. Miles paused in the doorway of his private office and grinned at him, aware that Gregor's secretary was standing just behind him, making helpless gestures. "Er," Gregor said. "Welcome home?"

"Thanks," Miles said. "Mind if I close the door?"

"Go ahead." Gregor made a placating gesture at the secretary, who probably thought Miles quite insane, and Miles shut the door behind him. He grabbed one of the chairs in front of Gregor's desk, flipped it around, and straddled it backwards.

Gregor watched all of this with a bemused expression. Miles quirked an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

Gregor seemed to shake himself. "Mess with Ivan's head? You mean like some sort of schoolboy prank?"

Miles frowned. "Well, you needn't make it sound so petty," he sniffed. "I'll have you know that I've raised the _schoolboy prank_ to an art form. It's sort of what I do fulltime now, I suppose you could say. Except with ships. And gravitic imploder lances." It'd recently gotten back to him that someone had been quoted in one of the galactic news feeds calling Admiral Naismith a "cosmic pain in the ass." Miles had almost laughed himself sick; Illyan, for some reason, had been less amused. "Anyway," he went on, "Ivan's birthday is coming up. He's usually my accomplice for these things, but even I would have to give serious contemplation to a scheme that renders someone both accomplice and victim."

"I'm sure you could come up with one if you put your mind to it," Gregor said.

"Well, yeah, but that's not the point." He raised his eyebrows. "So? What do you say?"

Gregor leaned back in his chair. "You know, many people find me impressive, Miles."

"I'm glad. It'd be a problem if they didn't."

Gregor went on eyeing him, twisting a stylus between his fingers. Miles resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. "All right," Gregor said at last, tossing the stylus down on the desk. "What did you have in mind?"

Miles waved his hand. "Not sure yet. It'll involve humiliation though." He had actually already begun to evolve more specific plans, but it was best not to involve the accomplices in the earlier planning stages. They tended to get "creative" and muck up the works - or at least, Ivan did. Elena had tended to lose her nerve if Miles got her involved too early, before things started to snowball. Miles didn't know what Gregor's reaction would be - for some reason he'd never considered him as an option before.

"Well, do let me know," Gregor said rather dryly. "So, how is it out in the Nexus?"

Miles grinned. "Full of people to piss off. I'm a -"

"Cosmic pain in the ass, I heard. Congratulations. I'm sure it's fulfilled a lifelong aspiration."

"And here?" Miles asked, picking up the stylus Gregor had discarded.

Gregor grimaced. "Dull in the extreme, I'm afraid. Your father's been keeping an eye on me since I got back."

Miles frowned in sympathy. "Well, you can't blame him. I think his personal nightmare is having to do your job."

"Yes," Gregor said slowly, "I realize that now. It's very - I mean, when you've received the education in history that I have, which more or less involved learning to list from memory all the ways my predecessors have been deposed, generally with a great deal of creativity by the people closest to them - well, imagining that someone doesn't want that after all becomes . . . difficult. I should have known, though."

Miles nodded. "And otherwise? You're feeling better, my mother said."

Gregor nodded. "Not entirely well all the time, but much, much better. Your mother is refreshingly frank about it all."

"Yes," Miles said, with a certain dryness, "I'm sure she is."

They fell silent then, first looking at each other and then not looking at each other. They were both, Miles was certain, thinking about that stupid kiss. Which hadn't been so much stupid, really, as it had been, well . . . good. Miles didn't have a lot to compare it to, of course - a couple of clinches with Elena that didn't really count and that single disastrous affair on Beta when he was fifteen - but Gregor had been better than all of them by far. Gregor was tall and solid and had strong arms, and Miles had been shocked by how much he'd liked the rough scrape of stubble against his cheek. It hadn't lasted very long, and they'd talked about it only long enough to decide that they shouldn't talk about it, but that didn't mean Miles hadn't thought about it during those eight months out. Because he had. A lot.

"Anyway," Miles said, "I should go."

"Yes. You'll be at the ball?"

"Of course. I'm escorting Delia."

"Ah," Gregor said, coloring slightly, if Miles wasn't mistaken. "How nice. I will be escorting whomever Alys tells me to, as usual."

"Right," Miles said, and there was that odd twinge of resentment again. Odd because it wasn't Gregor he resented, but rather the nameless, faceless, undoubtedly personality-less Vor virgin who'd be on his arm that night. "Well. I'll see you then."

"Of course."

*~*~*

"How much longer are we going to be here?"

"Depends on how fast Ivan works. He's taking his sweet time tonight - probably Aunt Alys is keeping an eye on him. She's gotten a bit intolerant of his flings lately, he said."

"Lucky man. At least he gets to have them. Closest thing I've ever had to a fling is Cavilo. And now my leg is asleep."

"Try stretching it."

"I can't stretch it, Miles. There isn't room to stretch it. It might help if you weren't sitting on top of it, though."

"Sorry. Better?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the remote?"

"Yes, right here."

"Good. But, wait, Gregor, you're not saying Cavilo has been it for you?"

"So far. Well, and, um, you. But, but we didn't, didn't -"

"But you don't mean she was your first?"

"Um. I'm afraid so."

"Well, hell. if I'd known that I would've -"

"What? Slept with me?"

"I dunno. I just - I don't know."

"Me neither. How was your first? It was on Beta, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. It pretty much makes the top five worst experiences of my life, and really, for me, that's saying something. But you deserve better than a some rabidly insane blonde mongoose looking to marry you for your power, Gregor, you really do."

*~*~*

Miles was glad it was dark in the wardrobe. He didn't want to look at Gregor as he said that, even if it was true, which it was. He hated the idea that that bitch had gotten to be Gregor's first. Gregor had been low on opportunities, as Elena had once pointed out, but Miles somehow thought it was probably more that he'd been waiting for someone who would matter to him. And instead, he got Cavilo. It pissed Miles off.

"It doesn't matter," Gregor muttered, sounding uncomfortable.

"It does," Miles said, with unexpected fierceness. "It does, Gregor."

Gregor was quiet beside him in the dark. Miles hefted the remote from one hand to the other and half-wished Ivan would come bumbling in with his girl of the night so they could get on with the prank and get out of this damn wardrobe. On the other hand, he wanted to finish this conversation and he didn't think it'd happen where he and Gregor could see each other.

"It does matter," Gregor said at last. "I've been pretending it didn't, but it does."

"Yeah," Miles said, a bit sadly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Gregor paused and Miles heard him suck in a quick breath. "You helped, you know. By kissing me, I mean. It helped."

Miles swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I - I liked it."

Miles's mouth went dry. "So did I."

"Oh."

Miles squirmed. They were in a wardrobe. Together. He was practically sitting in Gregor's lap. And they were talking about how much they'd liked kissing each other. _Sometimes, life just hits you over the head with a brick. Either that, or your Betan mother does._ "You want to do it again? Like, now?"

Gregor laughed, softly. It made the hair on the back of Miles's neck stand up in the best possible way. "I thought you'd never ask."

It was definitely not the best place for it. Before, they'd had a bed where they could stretch out, which, granted, was a much bigger deal for Gregor than it was for Miles. This time they spent nearly five minutes just adjusting limbs, until Miles was even more on top of Gregor. Even then, there was the whole _in a wardrobe_ angle to contend with - it really did smell like socks, as Gregor had pointed out earlier, and there were trousers and jackets hanging down like vines and getting in the way. But they were determined, and when Miles's jaw finally bumped against Gregor's - they missed their mouths on the first attempt - there was a moment of silence. Miles felt his heartbeat speed up, so fast he thought for sure Gregor would be able to hear it. He felt a puff of breath against his cheek as Gregor breathed out, and then he turned his head and pressed his lips to Gregor's.

It was much, much better than the last time, and that had been pretty good. Last time, it had been bumbling, confused, nervous. This time - well, it was still bumbling, a bit, but there was a lot less confusion and nervousness. Miles had spent eight months thinking about it and now he knew Gregor had, too. That gave them both a confidence they hadn't had before, a confidence that made it possible for Miles to nip along Gregor's lower lip until he opened his mouth, for Gregor to slide his hand along Miles's shoulder and down his chest to the buttons on his coat and undo them one by one, for them both to press closer together, until Miles realized with a thrill that no, that really wasn't Gregor's stunner pressing into his leg. Their kisses deepened, became a wet slide of tongues, a hot, continuous give and take.

Gregor's fingers were threaded through the hair at the back of Miles's neck and Miles's hands had done their own work on Gregor's coat and were currently busy breaking through the slim defensive barrier offered by his fine white dress shirt when Miles suddenly realized that there were voices in Ivan's bedroom. Ivan, of course, and a distinctly feminine voice Miles didn't recognize.

_Shit._

Gregor, busy biting Miles's earlobe, clearly hadn't realized it yet, and Miles didn't know how long they'd been there before he'd noticed.

"Gregor," Miles whispered.

"Mmm."

"_Gregor_," Miles said, and reached up to push him off. But Gregor's shirt was hanging half-opened, unbuttoned to his navel thanks to Miles's enterprising activities, and as Miles went to push him away his hand brushed one of Gregor's nipples.

Gregor gasped. Not very loud, but loud enough.

Miles froze. In the bedroom beyond the wardrobe, all noises ceased. Gregor seemed to finally realize what was going on, because Miles heard him swear under his breath.

"Did you hear something?" the girl asked.

"Yes," Ivan said. Miles heard his feet hit the floor, heard him coming closer - he fumbled at his shirt and felt Gregor do the same but it was too late - Ivan flung the the wardrobe door wide open and Miles only just managed not to fall out by clutching at Gregor.

Ivan, whose clothing was in a similar state of disarray, stared down at them in open-mouthed . . . something. Definitely astonishment. Probably horror. The three of them gaped at each other for several seconds, while Miles ran through the number of _really fucking awful_ things that could happen now that he and Gregor were caught - Barrayar would be none too pleased with its Emperor's taste in paramours (not that Gregor would be the first emperor with a preference for men, but Miles had the feeling that he was probably the first with a preference for perceived muties). From the increasingly horrified look on Ivan's face, Miles thought he was probably having similar thoughts.

_This is bad. This is so very, very bad, on so many levels. Shit._

"Ivan?" said the girl in the bed.

"Right," Ivan said, and suddenly the wardrobe door swung shut again, cutting off the dim bedroom light and plunging them back into blessed darkness. "Something fell down."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn I heard -"

"Nah, just my dress uniform. Say, you should see the bathroom in this place -"

The girl made interested noises as Ivan went on describing his bathtub and the voices faded until Ivan - apparently - closed the door to the bathroom, cutting them off altogether. Beside him, Miles felt Gregor let out a long breath. Together they crept out of the wardrobe and out of the apartment, shutting the door silently behind them.

*~*~*

"Well, that was . . .well."

"In terms of the scheme, I have to say that was one of my more notable failures."

"Hmm, yes, sorry about that, Miles."

"Oh, no, don't be. In fact, heh, I think we might have achieved our original goal much more thoroughly than any plan ever could have."

"What goal would that be?"

"Like I said in your office - to seriously mess with Ivan's head."

"Oh! Ha. Yes, I believe we did."

"Though I'm rather impressed with how he handled it. Ah well. Where to now?"

"Well, from the looks I'm receiving, I believe my guards have a definite preference for getting me back to the Residence."

"Ah."

"Quite. But . . . you could come, you know. If you wanted. I believe we have some . . . unfinished business."

"Oh. Yes. Very unfinished. Gladly, Sire."

_Fin._


End file.
